


The touch of your fingers

by Miss_Kitten



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Light Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-26
Updated: 2017-09-26
Packaged: 2019-01-05 18:55:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12195708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_Kitten/pseuds/Miss_Kitten
Summary: After a tiring and upsetting meeting with Erebor’s dwarrowdams, you seek comfort in your husband’s arms.





	The touch of your fingers

“Thank you for your attendance. I will sure take all of your suggestions under consideration,” you state as you dip your head at the dwarrowdams sitting by the large table.

You have just finish a weekly meeting with Erebor’s noble maidens and your personal handlers of various aspects of the realm. The most important ones are, of course, handled by your husband, but you take it upon yourself to deal with things considered feminine.

Thorin was very glad to see you actively take part in Erebor’s growth and renovation. Even before your wedding and coronation he assured that, if you didn’t want to, you wouldn’t have to bother yourself with it. But you wanted to. You didn’t wish to be seen as a spoiled Queen who didn’t care about the kingdom.

So you asked Thorin’s sister, Dis, to be your major adviser and Khuzdul teacher, so that you could reach an agreement with dwarrowdams quicker. Their aversion and lack of trust was understandable – you were a human lass, married to the King and they feared you would turn Erebor into a chaotic, multi-culture place rather than proud and rich dwarfish kingdom it previously had been.

Dis warned you that dwarrowdams had quite a temper. They didn’t put a filter – they said what they thought straight up, with no pleasantries and no remorse. And you were prepared for everything.

Or you thought you were. It turned out you were prepared for nothing.

It was clear that they weren’t fond you. Far from accepting you as their Queen, they never asked, only demanded. It didn’t matter that you were the Queen and it was expected for them to show you even a bit of respect.

They didn’t. Even after almost a year of yours and Thorin’s ruling over the Mountain, you had to fight for hearing.

“Oh, you sure will. During a measure for another fancy elvish dress?” one of them taunts, quietly but loud enough for you to hear it.

You shift your gaze at her, cold and stern but she doesn’t even flinch. A mocking smirk appears on her face.

“I am positive that you have noticed that I wore the very same dress for our meeting two weeks ago. And during most recent official dinner with King Thranduil. I spent my time more productively than you, may I add.”

“Apparently not productive enough,” another one says sliding a judging gaze at your stomach and you clench your jaw. Yes, it was highly anticipated for you and Thorin to produce an heir as soon as possible but you were aware that some things take more time and given that both of you were stressed and exhausted getting pregnant wasn’t an easy task.

“If you may, I kindly suggest that you keep your nose away from what happens between my husband and me in our bedroom.”

“Maybe he just needs a change?”

“Are you really suggesting that Thorin should take a mistress?” Dis interjects, her voice full of venom and mocking. The dwarrowdam looks bashful but handles her gaze. “If I remember correctly you have quite an experience with being replaced with lovers.”

The room falls dead silent and you glance at Dis with gratefulness. Discretely she pats your knee under the table. You are lucky to have her support.

“Next week, same time. Flima, master Dwalin speaks very highly of your daughter. I’m happy to hear that she’s doing well on her training.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” said dwarrowdam bows her head respectively and you send her a warm smile. She’s most likely the only one to show you the respect you should be given.

Once the room is empty and only you and Dis remain, you prop your elbows on the table and hid your face in your palms.

“Will it ever improve? Should I be given a slate every time I open my mouth?”

“Y/N, they need time to realize that you are not going anywhere. That they are, and forgive me for my wording, stuck with you, whether they like it or not.”

“You’re so delicate sometimes, Dis.”

“I know,” she chuckles and reaches to rub your back. “Go now. It’s late and you need rest.”

“Do you want to get rid of me so that you can rush to meet Dwalin?” you say teasingly as you turn your face to look at Dis, your brow quirked.

“Maybe…” she muses and you grin, quickly taking her hands in yours and squeezing them.

“Are you two courting?”

“Not yet, not officially, I suppose. But we’re on a good way.”

“That’s so wonderful!”

“Thorin already said to Dwalin that he would shave Dwalin’s beard off if he did anything to wrong me.”

“Oh, and I will help,” you assure and Dis rolls her eyes. She is surely capable of doing so herself but you know she’s happy to have you and Thorin have her back in case something happens.

“Al right, you go and see your dwarf and I’m off to see mine.”

“You better get to making that little babe, Y/N.”

“Dis!” you scold her as you stand up, knowing very well that it’s nothing but friendly banter.

“What? Don’t tell me that you’re not enjoying the act,” she says while cocking her brow up and you grunt.

“I’m not talking to you about it, no,” you shake your head and Dis laughs, the two of you exiting the room and going into separate directions – she heads outside while you go up the endless stairs to reach your chambers.

You feel emotionally drained and in dire need of a comfort. Those weekly meetings usually make you exhausted and upset, and Thorin suggested many times that you should consider delegating Dis to deal with them. Only that would mean that you gave up and the dwarrowdams would cheer that they beat human lass who was too weak to be a Queen.

You didn’t want to give them that satisfaction.

When you step from the last stair, the room to royal chambers down the corridor, you steep up your pace and, almost running it, you enter the room, finding your husband leaning over a few parchments, sitting on the sofa by the fireplace.

His crown put away, his hair loose except for a braid you made on your wedding day. He turns his eyes at you when you walk in, his gaze full of affection and adoration.

“My love,” he starts smiling but when your lips curl down at the corners his face falls. Thorin puts the parchments on a small table by the sofa and opens his arms, silently inviting you into them.

Gladly and readily, you sit on his lap, resting your head on his shoulder, taking in the familiar musky scent of the dwarf you married.

“How bad it was?” he asks quietly, his fingers instinctively combing into your hair. It’s become a ritual of sorts – when your mood was bad Thorin would simply caress your scalp for a moment and then tend to your hair, a soothing, fond gesture that was fast to uplift your spirits.

“I’m not good because I didn’t give you an heir yet.”

“Ah, that,” he comments as his fingers works on unbraiding your hair. “If that’s any consolation, I heard a remark today that I spend too much time on the throne instead of in the bedroom with my wife.”

“Really?” you tilt your head to look at him and Thorin nods, amused. You’re baffled by how different the approach is – dwarrowdams are clearly mean while the males are, well, jesting, meaning to humor Thorin.

“Darling, we don’t need to rush. We’re married for not a whole year, Oin said that it’s normal to not be pregnant so soon, remember?”

“Yes, but I’m tired of those glances at my belly every time I walk in. It’s like they have wagers on when will I have a bun in the oven.”

“Maybe they do. Dwarves like to bet their coins on everything.”

You chuckle and hum contently when Thorin strokes your hair, undoing the knots before braiding it again. You’re happy that he’s the one to do your hair in the mornings, not a handmaid.

“I think they’re jealous,” you say after a moment of silence. “They most likely thought I am nothing more than a brief whim, or I will remain your lover, but then you married me and their plans to wed their daughters or sisters to you were ruined.”

“Yes, Dis told me about the rumors she’s heard. And I want you to know that I am very proud of you, my sweet Y/N, for not giving up.”

“I learnt from the best, my dear husband,” you say leaning in to kiss his cheek but before you can reach it, Thorin shifts and captures your lips in a sweet loving kiss.

His hands are still tangled in your hair as he brings you closer. He takes over all of your senses – all you can smell is him, all you can touch is his warm, a bit rough skin, all you can taste is ale and a tobacco on his tongue and you whimper into the kiss, all of your worries and hardship of the day long forgotten.

You pull away only when your lungs scream for a breath and Thorin rests his forehead against yours, the two of you breathing the same air.

“Would you like me to draw you a bath?”

“Only if you join me, Thorin.”

“I’d love to.”

“And sing me that song you did on our wedding night.”

“I gladly will, Y/N,” he kisses the tips of your nose before gently pushing your legs from his lap and heading to the bathroom. From there, you can hear him sing while he prepares the bath and a smile spreads on your face.

Oh, how lucky you are!


End file.
